Pour Le Parfum de la France
by death by storm
Summary: In which England bets France that he will not be able to sell his new line of perfumes and hilarity ensues. Rated for England's potty mouth. Fr/UK


Meh... I'm not quite happy about how this turned out, mostly because I try to stay away from true stereotyping even when I'm writing Hetalia. Please note that this is intended to be humour.

Title translation: For the perfume of France.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

France was in a place that he did not find himself often. Between lovers. And bored. When he found himself in this state, there was one person that never failed to entertain him.

"Bonjour, Angleterre," France said.

England looked up from his embroidery and spluttered. "You! What are you doing inside my house?"

"I found myself with some spare time, mon lapin. And I thought to myself: what better way to spend it than trying to spread l'amour through this?" France pushed a bottle into England's hand.

"L'amour. By Francis. The scent that will bring the one you love to their knees." England read off the label. "You have got to be bloody kidding me. Go away you frog. And stop it with the French!"

"Ah, but French is widely recognized as the language of love," France replied. "And that fragrance has been very popular in the speciality shops that it has been introduced in. After all, I am the country of love."

"That's just a stereotype," England snorted and set his sewing down beside him. "I bet you can't find one place outside of France where you could sell that."

France raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh? If I win, we shall kiss, oui?"

England's cheeks darkened. "As if you'd win, you frog. If I win, you must admit that English cuisine is delicious at the next G8 meeting."

France thought for a moment. "Oui, Angleterre. You are on."

And so France began his adventures as a travelling kiosk. Unfortunately, no one in England would buy it. Not that he expected that it would sell there, but he had hoped to sell one bottle in London just so that he could make some more innuendo about England's vital regions.

So he headed to Canada, only to find that the people of Canada, while generally impressed with trends and products from Europe, were indifferent to anything French.

"I do not understand, Mathieu, how can anyone not want to buy this?" Francis held up the bottle of perfume to his 'son'.

Canada opened the top of it and sniffed. He sneezed, and his eyes began to stream. "I-I don't know. It smells alright, but this isn't the best place to sell something from France. My people are rather indifferent to anything from your country. Have you tried Alfred's?"

"L'Amerique? You think he would buy this?"

"Oui, Papa," Canada said. "His people are very impressed by the French."

"I see. Mathieu, I must be going." France left Canada's house and, barring all odds, was able to set up a kiosk at an American shopping centre.

Francis held his breath as the doors of the mall opened for the first time. Within minutes, a couple of young women stopped to look at the perfumes. He stepped around the stand.

"Bonjour, mes amis. Are you looking for something in particular? I am sure that these fragrances made in France will be more than helpful in your mission to find l'amour."

"Wow. You're really from France?" the first girl spoke up.

"Oui," France replied.

"That's so cool! Uhh... Je t'aime?" the second girl said with a blush. "That's all I really know. Did I say that right?"

A crowd of girls and young women had begun to gather, with stars in their eyes. France held back a smile. It looked like he would be tasting Angleterre's lips after all.

"Oui," France replied even though he was near tears with how badly his language had been butchered. "However, I will have to decline your offer. You see, I have someone who is very precious to me."

The girls sighed, obviously entranced with what he had said.

"I'll buy one," one women said.

"So will I!" Another called.

"I will too!"

"Me too!"

The crowd pushed forward insistently. Francis was just handing the first customer her change when all hell broke loose.

"Now ladies, there is enough for everyone," Francis pasted a placating smile on his face.

His smile slipped from his face when the commotion increased. Several women, as well as a couple of men began to tear the bottles away from the cart. A few hit the floor releasing an over powering mix of perfume in the air. Francis stumbled away from what was left of his perfume stand and flew back to France, realizing that there were some situations even the country of love did not wish to get involved in.

* * *

It was a rainy morning in London. England yawned as he poured himself a cup of steaming Earl Grey Tea. He headed back upstairs to the large stack of paperwork waiting in his office with a sigh. It had been quiet around here the last few days. America was the only other country that dropped by regularly besides France and he'd been busy with his own problems lately.

"Mon lapin, I do not know why you detest me so." England let out a well mannered shriek. His teacup hit the ground and shattered, staining the wood floor with Earl Grey.

"That's because you're a frog," England stated. "I suppose you are here to admit defeat?"

"Hardly," France chuckled.

"But you couldn't have -"

"Voila, Angleterre. Good for one kiss, non?"

England took the receipt from France's outstretched hand.

"Though I do have to wonder why you would go to so much trouble. With a friend like L'Amerique, you would of course know that his people love French goods,"

England went red with rage and began to splutter as France backed him up against the desk.

"Ah, mon cher, you are so cute when you are angry." France's smile turned predatory. "The next time that you wish for me to kiss you, you need only ask."

And then France's lips were upon his. Much to his surprise, England's eyes fell shut for a moment and he actually kissed back. Then, two hands pushed hard against France's chest. Stunned, the French nation knocked over the office chair on his way to the floor.

"Bloody frog! I didn't enjoy that," England shouted.

"But Arthur, we both know that you are secretly pining for me. You don't need to hide it."

France dashed forward and groped at England's crotch. He jumped back out of reach as England's fist drove right towards his face. Deciding that England was much too dangerous to be around at the moment, France made his escape into the early morning light.

* * *

It occurs to me that I should put the translations to the French I did use:

Bonjour mes amis: Hello, my friends.

Mon lapin: My rabbit.

Mon cher: My dear.

Voila, Angleterre: Here it is, England.

L'Amerique: America.

Je t'aime: I like/love you.

L'amour: Love.

* * *

Thoughts?


End file.
